


No Love Lost

by Silbrith



Series: Six-Crossed Knot [12]
Category: A Discovery of Witches (TV), All Souls Trilogy - Deborah Harkness
Genre: Fantasy, Gen, Historical
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:21:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28427718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silbrith/pseuds/Silbrith
Summary: In 1621, Jack becomes enmeshed in a dangerous liaison.
Series: Six-Crossed Knot [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1052225
Comments: 4
Kudos: 11





	1. Aurora

**A Palazzo in Venice. August 1621.**

Gerbert d'Aurillac replaced the letter from Benjamin in the secret drawer of his desk. Still nothing about the English witch who'd been seen in Prague. He drummed his fingers impatiently on the polished walnut surface.

The rumors of her association with Matthew de Clermont were tantalizing but slim. Was she a weaver? Did she have the _Book of Life_ in her possession?

After 1591, there had been no further reports of them being seen in Prague. Based on Domenico Michele's research, Matthew had spent the past few decades in Amsterdam and Paris. Gerbert had hired the Italian _manjasang_ to keep an eye on Matthew. Domenico was unscrupulous . . . and greedy. An ideal combination for Gerbert's purposes. Domenico was convinced that Matthew wasn't associating with witches.

A few rumors had surfaced, suggesting that someone had appropriated Matthew's identity in Prague. Although that appeared to be the likeliest scenario, it didn't decrease the probability that stories of a powerful English weaver were true. That type of ability couldn't be faked.

Gerbert rose abruptly. He needed eyes in England. Domenico was of little use since he didn't speak English. Aurora, on the other hand . . . For this task, Gerbert's daughter was the best candidate. He likened Aurora to a modern Lucrezia Borgia—the face of a blonde angel with a ruthless soul that mimicked his own. She spoke English fluently. For the past few years, she'd been urging him to extend their influence to England. Reportedly, the de Clermonts weren't meddling in British affairs. Despite its religious upheavals, the country had rich potential. Had the time come for him to follow his daughter's advice?

Gerbert found Aurora in the courtyard, singing a canzone while accompanying herself on the lute. "I have a mission for you, Daughter," he said, sitting down on the stone bench next to her.

Her fingers stilled on the strings. "Whatever you'd like, Father."

"You may not be so eager when you hear what it is," he cautioned. "You'll need to conceal your hatred of witches. Will that be an issue?"

"Not at all," she said, offering him an innocent smile. "Some of my dearest friends are witches."

He snorted as he thought about the numerous ones she'd killed. To look at her face, one would be convinced of her absolute sincerity. She was meant to be a spy. Gerbert had never taken Aurora into his confidence about the _Book of Life_ , but it was time she knew. His quest for that magical tome would become hers as well.

"Andrew Hubbard rules over witches as well as _wearhs_ in London," Gerbert cautioned. "They're the most likely to know about the English weaver who goes by the name of Diana Roydon. But it will be difficult to obtain any information from them. They're a closed society and unlikely to share any confidences with strangers. Hubbard requires blood from any creature who enters what he considers to be his domain."

Aurora shrugged, her golden curls rippling down her back. "I should have no trouble in staying out of his clutches." She thought a moment. "When I was in Spain last year, I met the Duke of Buckingham and his wife. The Duke's charm is almost equal to mine. He commands the king's ear, and some say the rest of him as well. His wife Katherine is a devout Roman Catholic, although she pretends to a Protestant. We've become friends."

Yet another reason why Aurora was his favorite child. Her intelligence was second only to his, and she kept her eyes constantly open for ways of exerting influence.

Aurora strummed her lute thoughtfully. "I could write to Katherine, explaining my desire to visit her. Undoubtedly, she would be delighted to have my companionship. Her husband is, shall we say, not very attentive."

"Do you have any contacts among English _manjasangs_?"

"There is one who could be useful. She's an actress and currently resides in Venice. She performs commedia dell'arte."

"What's her name?"

"Bryn Walbrook. She'd make a delightful traveling companion. She used to live in London. I'll be able to take advantage of her connections."

Gerbert nodded his approval. "I assume no one knows of your relationship to me?"

"Of course not, Father."

"Keep it that way." England was a prize ripe for the picking. The religious countercurrents could be exploited to keep the country unstable. Gerbert had left political machinations to Philippe for far too long. While Philippe was occupied on the continent, Gerbert would strengthen his alliances on the periphery. His spies had already assured him there were many unaffiliated _manjasangs_ in the British Isles. Lonely, perhaps disenchanted—they were a fertile recruiting ground. He'd already solidified his base in Eastern Europe. It was time to expand. Perhaps even Hubbard could be persuaded to join him. Gerbert knew for a fact he despised the de Clermonts. If Gerbert could win him over, London would be his.

Aurora would be his mouthpiece. She idolized him and would do whatever he requested. Gerbert arranged a tress of her blonde hair. Aurora's charms could even tempt a priest.

**Chatsworth House, Derbyshire. November 1621.**

Jack stood back to scrutinize the mural for one last time. He'd probably never have an occasion to see it again. The goddess Diana and her nymphs were on a hunt. He'd painted them running through a moonlit forest. The stag was just beyond the reach of their bows.

He'd been commissioned by Inigo Jones to paint all the murals in the house in the style of Master Rubens. Thanks to the drawings Inigo had obtained in Antwerp, Jack had been able to imitate the style demanded by the Earl of Devonshire. Inigo had come to Chatsworth last week to inspect the renovation progress and left a list of the final touches he wanted Jack to execute.

Gone were the days when Inigo worked side by side with Jack and Leonard. The architect was in demand throughout England. The Palladian style he'd embraced was all the rage, with noblemen vying for his services. In addition, Inigo had been elected a Member of Parliament for a borough in Sussex at the beginning of the year.

Inigo's change in circumstances had been particularly difficult for Leonard. More than ever, they needed to be discreet in their relationship. Most men who had Inigo's inclination married to maintain appearances, but he never had. Instead, Leonard had grown adept in taking advantage of Inigo's constant travel, whether in England or overseas.

Five years ago, when Jack needed to set up a new identity, Inigo provided employment at various houses undergoing renovation. Jack alternated between jobs in different sections of the country, keeping a low profile so that he'd be easily forgotten.

His previous commission had been at an estate in Norfolk close to Norwich. He'd been able to visit Jeffrey Norman and his wife Annick frequently. They now had two children. The boy had been named John after Jeffrey's deceased brother. He was seventeen and didn't look much younger than Jack. The daughter was named Annie, in memory of the girl who'd been a big sister to Jack when he lived with the Roydons. Although that was thirty years ago, the memories were still fresh. Jack kept them alive through his paintings. There was a hint of Mistress Roydon in the goddess's features in the mural. He hadn't been able to include Master Roydon in this painting, but Master Roydon was enshrined as Apollo in the salon.

Jack never signed his works but he'd devised a workaround. It was based on Philippe's praise of the knots he'd used in the murals in the crypt of Christ Church Greyfriars. In every painting he made, Jack hid a knot. Sometimes, it was concealed within the fold of a gown. Often he placed one within the design of a flower. In this mural, Jack had added an intricate knot to a tree trunk. He enjoyed making each one unique. They were all reminders of the knots Mistress Roydon wove with Goody Alsop.

The Roydons weren't the only personal touches in this set of murals. Jack had imagined Hannah as one of Diana's nymphs. The woman he'd known as a young lady-in-waiting for Queen Anne had been widowed at the age of twenty-three. She'd remarried a year later, and judging by the few letters he'd received, she was content. She had two children and had retired from court life. He'd been tempted to stop by her estate in Hampshire to look at her from afar, but what was the point? Better to keep her image a memory. He'd become an expert at that.

"I thought I'd find you in here." Leonard strode into the dining room. "The carts have left. We should be on our way as well."

"Just saying goodbye." Jack cast a final quick look at the mural. He'd painted faint shadows on the moon in homage to Tom Harriot. Together they'd worked on his moon maps ten years ago. Tom would have enjoyed knowing that "his" moon was shining down on Diana.

"You should be more excited," Leonard chided. "We're heading back to London!"

"Sorry, but reuniting with Inigo isn't as high a priority for me as it is for you."

Leonard smiled sheepishly. "Perhaps not, but you should be enthusiastic about the masque. God's Truth, it's been too long since we worked on one together with Inigo. Alfonso Ferrabosco is slated to compose the music. Ben Jonson wrote the script. It will be like old times."

"Only the patron will be new." During Queen Anne's extended illness, no masques had been staged at court. It was just as well that Hannah was no longer a lady-in-waiting. The queen had reduced their number to a few trusted friends, including Lady Lucy Bedford. After her death, there were none at court, and that situation would likely continue. The king was rumored to be so smitten with the Duke of Buckingham that he wasn't interested in another marriage.

Artists, actors, and musicians alike were pinning their hopes on the Prince of Wales. Charles was now twenty-one. Inigo reported he was an avid supporter of the arts. This upcoming masque was to be the first one produced under his patronage.

"I received a letter from Inigo," Leonard said. "Ben has completed the script. He's calling it the _Masque of Augurs_."

"Augurs? As in the ancient Roman fortune tellers?"

"The very same." Leonard gave him a nudge. "That will allow Inigo—and you—to stage settings for the full panoply of gods."

"In ancient Rome, the augurs practiced their craft by studying birds. Their flights, their calls, what they looked like—all could be used to predict events. Ben will probably toss in some references just to challenge Inigo to come up with something appropriate."

"You know him well," Leonard said with a laugh. "He also added bears, probably for the same purpose."

"I'll enjoy seeing the costumes," Jack said, his heart lightening at the thought of the actors being chased around by lumbering bears.

"Since it's to be performed on Twelfth Night, I'm sure Inigo's budget will be sufficient even for his demands."

"The Prince of Wales is already known for his exquisite taste. This masque could usher in a new era of opulence."

"I bet you're right. We'll likely need new performance attire." Leonard eyed Jack's paint-stained garment. Particularly you, my friend. Ferrabosco always writes parts for the viol. You could be called on to perform solo works. I'm glad we went ahead and created a new identity for you." His lips tightened into a frown.

"What's wrong?"

"When was the last time Ferrabosco saw you as Jack Blackfriars?"

"It's been over ten years." Two years ago, Jack changed his surname to Coleman. Under that identity, he'd auditioned and secured a spot with his former playing company, the King's Men. During the years Jack had stayed away from court, there'd been a turnover in the members. None of the current players remembered Jack Blackfriars. "You don't think Ferrabosco will recognize me?"

"Not after ten years. Your hair is much longer. Your clothes are different. Ferrabosco is so near-sighted, you'll probably just be a blur. Still, it's unfortunate you don't have a beard."

Jack shrugged. "We were both reborn too young to have much facial hair."

"Forget I mentioned it. You'll be fine. Inigo's eager for us to meet Prince Charles." Leonard grinned. "He could _augur_ well for our future."

Jack hoped Leonard was right. There'd been little cheer in his life over the past year. The one bright spot was that Lord Northumberland had finally been released from the Tower in July. After a prolonged stay in Bath to take the waters, he'd settled in Petworth. Jack wished he could have visited his former guardian more often, but his lordship's children didn't know who Jack was and were rightfully protective of their father. Jack had snuck in once, but Lord Northumberland was now almost blind in addition to being deaf, so it had been difficult to communicate.

"I know London will bring back sad memories," Leonard added quietly. "Losing the ones you care about is harder for us than warmbloods. We never stop mourning them."

Jack nodded, grateful for his understanding. He turned to look one final time at the mural. Tom had died in July shortly before Lord Northumberland was released. Tom had suffered from a cancerous ulcer on his nose for years. He claimed he was looking forward to the release brought by everlasting sleep. But Jack hadn't been ready for him to go.

The day after Tom was buried in London, Jack left the city. He hadn't returned since. He hoped Leonard was right about the future, but at the moment the ghosts of the past dominated his thoughts.

**Hotel de Clermont, Paris.**

Philippe stretched his legs in front of the fire as he gloomily contemplated the flames. Matthew continued to read dispatches at the table by the row of windows overlooking the courtyard. The salon seemed an empty place without Ysabeau. She'd already returned to Sept-Tours to prepare for the end of the year festivities. He should be there as well. His son Baldwin was en route from Amsterdam to the family estate. Freyja was traveling to Sept-Tours from Italy. Of all his children, only Matthew was with him at the moment. They were scheduled to depart in a few days.

The hotel was a recent acquisition. Philippe had long resisted owning property in Paris but Baldwin convinced him of the necessity. Nobles were all building mansions in the Place Royale. The square at the center of the city was now one of the best sources of gossip.

The de Clermonts were navigating a tricky course of counseling King Louis XIII while maintaining cordial relations with his mother, Marie de Medici. Freyja was particularly useful with Marie. Baldwin was operating hand in glove with the Duke de Richelieu and believed that the Duke would soon be appointed Cardinal. Richelieu had been instrumental in negotiating a reconciliation between Marie and her son. He appeared destined to play a pivotal role in French politics.

Much as Philippe disliked admitting it, Baldwin had been much more successful with Louis than Philippe had been in England. Once James got it into his head to govern in person, the situation went from bad to worse. James's habit of latching onto a succession of favorites did him little credit. Buckingham in Philippe's view was the worst of the lot.

A slow sigh by Matthew interrupted his musing. "Bad news?" he asked.

Matthew nodded. "I heard from Hal Percy's son Algernon. His father's health continues to deteriorate."

Time had not been kind to Matthew's friends in England. Raleigh had been executed three years ago. As for Harriot—

"I intend to go to England in the new year," Matthew announced. "I couldn't help Walter, but I won't let Hal think he's been abandoned by me."

"He could hardly think that," Philippe objected. "I'm sure your letters were a great comfort to him."

"If he could read them," Matthew grumbled.

"Hal was not without friends during his time of incarceration. He met regularly with Harriot and other scholars. He was able to fence and bowl. It was only recently that his eyesight failed him."

Philippe wouldn't raise any objections to Matthew's trip. Once the plans were firm, he'd write to Hubbard to ensure that Jack was nowhere near. Philippe had cultivated a friendship with Inigo Jones during his last trip to England, some ten years ago. He'd hired Inigo to design several of the rooms in his Paris mansion. It would be a trivial matter for Inigo to dispatch Jack to some estate far away from London.

Someday Matthew would find the maps of the moon which Philippe had commissioned from Harriot. They'd been a joint project with Jack framing the drawings with the same unusual type of knot border he'd used in the crypt. At Philippe's request, the pup also added exquisite portraits of Matthew's friends from London. Chapman, Raleigh, Northumberland, and Harriot were all featured as well as Christopher Marlowe, although the latter had only been included at Philippe's insistence. Normally Jack didn't sign his works, but Philippe requested he do so for this project. It was not only for Matthew's benefit that Philippe had commissioned the project. It was a tangible sign to Jack that his dream of reuniting with Matthew and Diana might one day become reality.

Ten years ago, Philippe had purchased a book of calligraphy ornamented with flora and fauna which had originally been commissioned by Emperor Rudolph. The calligrapher has used knot designs which reminded Philippe of Jack. Philippe had taken the book with him on a trip to England to show Jack what he had in mind for the map project. The Hungarian artist had added shadows to make the objects more realistic, and Jack had done the same with Matthew's friends. The finished manuscript was a masterpiece destined to remain hidden till a far-off future.

Until then, Philippe planned to keep Jack busy with an assortment of assignments. Recently Rubens had been in Paris. Philippe had commissioned him to paint a mural for his new residence, and it hadn't escaped his notice that Rubens did more than a little spying on the side for the Hapsburgs. Now that the Prince of Wales was asserting himself, Jack might also have occasion to be at court. He could prove to be a useful source of information once more.

**Whitehall Palace. December 1621.**

Leonard stood up and brushed off his breeches at the familiar scent of chamomile and lavender. By the time Bryn swept into the chamber, he was at the door to greet her.

"When did you get back in London?" he asked, clasping her elbow.

"Yesterday. Father H said I'd find you here."

Bryn was dressed in the latest style, eschewing a ruff for a smaller wired collar. Her sleeves were puffed and slashed to an extreme that would make Inigo sigh with envy.

Bryn glanced around the clutter of the workshop. "Is this for the masque?"

Leonard nodded. "We're on a tight schedule to finish all the backdrops in a fortnight."

"Since when did you become a carpenter?"

Leonard chuckled. "Since never. I'm here to supervise." He nodded toward the workmen who were carving a border in a backdrop. "They're the true artisans." He lowered his voice to a murmur to prevent any chance of being overheard. "It's been a useful second identity."

She nodded her understanding. "You haven't needed to spend as much time away from England as I have."

"I thought you planned to stay in Venice till summer."

"That was my original intent, but when I had the opportunity to travel back to London in luxury, how could I refuse?" In response to Leonard's arched eyebrows, she added. "I'm the traveling companion of Aurora Dandolo, a friend from Venice. This is her first trip to England and she asked for my assistance."

"Dandolo," Leonard repeated thoughtfully. "Isn't that the name of one of the Venetian noble houses?"

She nodded complacently. "The current head, Giovanni Dandolo, has entered into umm . . . an understanding with several of our local kin."

"Of beneficial interest?"

"Precisely."

Leonard had heard that the practice had become commonplace in Italy. _Wearhs_ were able to provide many useful services, something the more enlightened members of the Italian aristocracy were quick to appreciate. _Wearhs_ paid handsomely for being allowed to claim a relationship and thus ensure respectability.

"Aurora is friends with the Duchess of Buckingham," Bryn confided. "We're staying at York House. Can you believe it?"

"Only since it's you. Finagling a way to reside at the home of the second most powerful man in England for anyone else would be a nigh impossible feat." York House was on the Strand, not far from the house Lord Northumberland used to rent. Bryn was no doubt floating on a cloud to stay at what was reputed to be one of the grandest residences along the Strand. "Have you met the Duke?"

"He greeted us personally when we arrived and is every bit as charming as I've heard, but you must already know that since you're helping to stage Inigo's masques."

Leonard nodded. The duke had appointed himself dance instructor to the Prince of Wales and regularly performed beside the prince. "He'll be one of the luminaries in this masque as well."

"Is Jack in London?" Bryn asked.

"Aye, he's in an adjoining chamber, painting one of the backdrops we'd already completed—far away from our sawdust. He'll be happy to see you."

"As will I. Is he seeing anyone now?"

"Nah, it took him quite a while to get over Hannah."

Bryn's face lit up. "Perfect! Aurora has been making subtle hints—alas, not for me. Jack is a great match for her."

"Are you sure about that?" Leonard asked warily.

"Of course, I am," she said indignantly. "Aurora is nothing like me. She's innocent and sweet, in other words just like Jack. They'll both thank me."

Leonard hoped she was right. Jack was still depressed over Tom's death. He needed someone to brighten his life. Bryn knew Jack well. If she thought they were suited for each other, Leonard wouldn't raise any objections.

* * *

_Notes: Thanks for reading! The title is from a play by Ben Jonson. "There shall be no love lost" is a line in the comedy Every Man out of His Humour. Chatsworth House was originally constructed for Bess Hardwick in the mid-sixteenth century. At the time of this story, it was owned by one of her sons, William Cavendish, the 1st Earl of Devonshire. Inigo Jones was involved in remodeling projects for many of the great estates in England, but there is no record of him working at Chatsworth. The current Chatsworth House was extensively remodeled in the late 17th and 18th centuries._

_Blog:[Penna Nomen & Silbrith Conversation](https://pennasilbrithconversation.blogspot.com/). See the Six-Crossed Knot page for background information on the series and an introduction to the world of All Souls Trilogy._  
_Story Visuals and Music on Pinterest:[Six-Crossed Knot board](https://www.pinterest.com/silbrith/six-crossed-knot/) on [Silbrith's Stories](https://www.pinterest.com/silbrith/)_  
_Twitter:[@silbrith](https://twitter.com/silbrith)_


	2. Heart Vein

**London. December 1621.**

_Aurora_ . . .

Jack's mind drifted as he gazed into the silk brocade canopy of the bed. Was she Venus descended to Earth? Inigo had once shown him a drawing of the birth of the goddess by the Italian artist Botticelli. When Jack first glimpsed Aurora, it was as if she too had magically risen from seafoam.

Jack had been painting clouds destined to serve as a backdrop for Apollo's arrival on stage when Bryn floated in with a _wearh_ so beautiful she took his breath away. Jack cringed when he recalled his awkwardness. He'd hardly been able to stumble out a word of greeting. But Bryn sprang to his rescue, maintaining a steady stream of chatter as well as praising his artistry far beyond what it deserved.

Aurora had invited him and Bryn to visit her at York House. That evening he'd played viol for her in a small antechamber, and Aurora revealed she was a gifted lutenist and singer. They initially played trios, but after a few minutes, Bryn left them alone. That was when Jack discovered Aurora was even more gifted in the art of love.

"Your mind is far from me," Aurora said softly, rolling on top of him. "I'm glad your body isn't." She kissed his shoulder, her teeth lightly pressing into his flesh without breaking the skin.

"I was only thinking of you," he murmured, tracing the slope of her breast with his finger. Sunlight streamed in through the window. On a Sunday morning, the Duke and his wife were attending church services and would be gone for at least another hour. Aurora had invited Jack into her bedchamber during their absence.

Aurora pulled him down on top of her. Conscious thought stilled . . .

After they eventually got dressed, they had coffee in a small sunny room overlooking the Thames. Aurora had introduced the beverage to him, and it was growing on him. Coffee was gaining in popularity in London. She told him it had arrived in Venice over fifty years ago but even before then there had been coffeehouses in Malta. Aurora was familiar with foreign lands and cultures he could only dream about.

"I wish I could travel to Europe," Jack said. "You must think I'm a dull and uninteresting fellow."

"Not so," she declared. "This is my first visit and already I'm enchanted by the richness of your culture." She took a sip from a porcelain cup. "London is quite famous in our world," she added in a lower voice. "It is rare to see witches, _wearhs_ , and demons living in harmony. I used to think witches were evil, but I've learned better. I've met many whom I'm honored to call my friends." She gazed at him worriedly. "Does that shock you?"

"Not at all. I also count witches among my friends."

She smiled, her periwinkle eyes looking up at him from under thick lashes. "Do you think of them as your sisters?"

"Aye, that is an accurate way of phrasing it. As well as aunts, uncles, cousins, and nephews." The Normans, a family of witches, were as close to him as Leonard and Bryn.

"I hope someday in Venice we also will have peaceful relations."

"The harmony in which we live is due to Father Andrew Hubbard. Would you like to meet him?"

She hesitated. "I've heard a rumor that he requires all creatures to let him drink their blood. My sire is very private. He would never wish for me to undergo anything so intrusive. Do you think the priest would force me to comply?"

Now it was Jack's turn to be uncertain. He longed to tell her she wouldn't need to, but he doubted he could dissuade Father H. It was for the best she didn't realize he was Jack's sire. Both Father H and Philippe had drilled into him the necessity of keeping such details secret. Base case, _wearhs_ didn't discuss their past. It had been one of the hardest lessons he'd had to learn.

When he was a child, his mind was filled with unanswered questions about the Roydons. Little had he realized that was a prelude to his future life. Only now he knew never to ask. In the case of his heritage, he had even more reason to remain mute. He didn't know of anyone else other than Philippe who was aware of Father H's relationship to Matthew's son Benjamin.

Jack sympathized with Aurora's concern to protect her sire. If Jack were visiting Venice and somebody demanded to drink his blood, he'd depart rather than letting it take place.

"How long do you plan to stay in London?" he asked, preferring not to give her a direct answer.

She bit her lower lip. "Originally I'd intended to stay only a fortnight, but now . . ." She reached over to clasp his hand. "My heart commands me to linger."

"Father Hubbard may not hear about you for a while."

She raised a coquettish eyebrow. "Because I'll be in bed? That would suit me very well."

Aurora might look and act innocent, but Jack had already discovered that was far from the case when they were in the privacy of the massive canopied bed which was part of her suite. More than ever he was grateful to Blanche for having taught him how to comport himself, and to Leonard for having arranged it.

Leonard understood from his own experience how difficult it was for a _wearh_ infant to control his passions. He'd sought help from Blanche, a _wearh_ beauty who normally only invited noblemen into her bed, to provide instructions. Jack could have easily fallen hard for her, but Blanche always made it clear that she never remained for long with one person. Instead, they'd become good friends. Jack wondered what she'd think of Aurora. Blanche had spent the past decade in mainland Europe. Perhaps they'd met.

**Sept-Tours. December 15, 1621.**

In a few days, it would be Saturnalia, the start of the holiday season. Philippe liked mixing Christian, Roman, and Scandinavian traditions. Pierre and Françoise were in charge of decorating the hall with greenery. Ysabeau was in the kitchen, consulting with the chef on the menu for the feast.

Philippe had assigned himself a much more challenging task—preparation of the clock. Diana's fascination with the device during the Christmas season she and Matthew spent at Sept-Tours was a fond memory. The water clock featured a model ship. As water was funneled onto the ship from a pipe, the ship's extra weight caused the hand on the clock dial to rotate. Each year Philippe fashioned a spectacular effect for when the hour of midnight was struck. This year, he'd returned to an old favorite. A mechanical wolf would howl the hour.

Freyja's scent wafting into the hall alerted him to her presence before he heard the rustling of her skirts.

"I thought I'd find you here," she said with a laugh. "Should we all wear armor to the feast to protect ourselves from whatever devilry you've concocted for the clock?"

Philippe clasped elbows with her. "It won't be necessary. You'll be relieved to know that I don't plan to repeat last year's explosives. How was your journey?"

"Next time I'll wear men's clothes and ride a horse," she declared. "The carriage is a torture not to be inflicted on anyone." She added in a lower voice. "I stopped in Venice on my way back."

"You have news?"

At her nod, he beckoned her to an alcove where they could sit away from the noise of the decorating crew.

"I visited a friend who's currently living in Venice, Blanche Rayford."

Philippe was familiar with the English _manjasang_. In the fifteenth century, she'd lived in Rome. Her taste in art was exquisite. He'd occasionally consulted with her about Italian paintings to be added to the family collection.

Freyja extended her right leg to display her shoe which was ornately festooned with ribbons and embroidery. "Blanche and I indulged ourselves with several pairs of new shoes. No one can compare with the cobblers of Venice. I'd hoped to meet with Bryn while in Venice, but Blanche told me I'd missed her by a few weeks. She'd returned to London as the traveling companion of Aurora Dandolo."

"A _manjasang_?"

"Yes, and one I was unfamiliar with."

"As am I."

"Blanche didn't know much about her either except that she'd paid for the privilege of calling herself a Dandolo. I decided to check with Domenico."

Domenico Michele was well-known to Philippe. A former doge of Venice, he continued to make the city his headquarters. The _manjasang_ was clever and totally without scruples—a dangerous combination. He probably viewed both Gerbert and Philippe as obstacles to his own ambition, but he was more than willing to play along with first one then the other for suitable reimbursement. He'd cultivated members of the Congregation to be his allies and switched his allegiance with the wind.

"I persuaded Domenico that Aurora bore watching. He discovered she's Gerbert's daughter, and I was able to confirm it." Freyja chuckled. "London better watch out. Aurora looks like a blonde angel but is rumored to be as unscrupulous and deadly as her sire."

"And she's on her way to London . . ." Philippe pondered the news. Up to now, Gerbert hadn't displayed any interest in the British Isles. It was conceivable that was still the case, but Gerbert was as clever at using his children as emissaries as Philippe was. Earlier in the century, Gerbert was been in Prague in a never-ending search for the _Book of Life_ , a grimoire he'd once possessed then let slip through his fingers.

"It's possible Gerbert delegated her to search for news of that English witch—the one who was rumored to be Matthew's companion," Freyja mused.

Philippe nodded. "Gerbert will never give up until he regains the _Book of Life_. If he's learned about Bryn, he could believe she'd be a useful tool."

Freyja wrinkled her brow. "I don't follow you."

"Andrew Hubbard rules over all creatures in London. Unlike the rest of the world, many London _manjasangs_ have friendly relations with witches. Has Bryn ever mentioned witches to you?"

"The subject never came up."

"She lived many decades in London. She would have had to become a member of Hubbard's flock. Aurora could intend to use her as a stepping stone."

"Or she could simply be curious about England," Freyja suggested. "Aurora's been a frequent visitor to Blanche's palazzo, and Blanche waxes euphoric about life in London. I'd always considered London culture to be inferior to that on the continent, but I may need to revise my opinion. She showed me a portrait of herself that an English _manjasang_ had painted." Freyja laughed. "Can you imagine? Not your normal calling for one of us, but the portrait was exceptional. Blanche claimed he was also a court musician."

"Did she give you his name?" Philippe asked, suspecting that he already knew it.

"Only his given name—Jack. She described him as swoon-worthy. If Blanche heard the tales, she could be equally attracted."

Just how nefarious was Aurora's visit? Bryn knew not to mention anything about Diana and Matthew, but would she feel the same restraint about Jack? Bryn likely didn't know about Aurora's sire. What if Aurora and Jack met? From the way Freyja described her, she possessed an angelic beauty that could prove irresistible to a young pup like Jack.

If he fell in love with her, would he allow her to taste his blood? The risk was intolerable. Philippe left the hall and returned to his office. More than ever, he appreciated the uneasy truce established between himself and Hubbard. Philippe was about to test how solid it was.

#

"Tell me about Aurora," Hubbard ordered.

Bryn shrugged. "She's a delightful creature I met in Venice. She's staying at the Duke of Buckingham's house as the guest of his wife."

Hubbard had dispatched a courier to bring Bryn to Christ Church Greyfriars. He didn't suspect Bryn of anything underhanded but it was a puzzle why she hadn't brought Aurora to him immediately.

"How long has she been here?"

She bit her lip. "Three weeks."

"You know the rules. Why didn't you bring her to me?" He was keeping his tone even for the time being. They were simply two _wearhs_ conducting a pleasant conversation in the nave of the church.

Bryn hesitated. She had the grace to appear embarrassed. "I would have, but Aurora pleaded to hold off. She didn't intend to stay long in London."

"For two days I might be lenient but a month?"

"I'll speak to her," Bryn promised.

"You'll do more than that," he retorted, letting anger seep into his voice. "When you see her, take two _wearhs_ with you and bring her to me. I insist on compliance."

Bryn's forehead creased. "You should know there's a complication."

Hubbard sighed inwardly. Wasn't there always with Bryn? "What is it this time? Are the two of you intimate?" He was quite familiar with Bryn's relationships. That could explain her reluctance.

"I wish that were the case. I don't wear my heart on my sleeve." She winced. "Unlike Jack. I think he may have fallen in love with her, and she shows every sign of being the same way."

_Jesu_. Hubbard pinched his nose as he channeled his fury into something manageable. "What role did you play in this disaster?"

"I didn't see any harm," she said, jutting her chin out defiantly even as she stepped back a pace. "Jack was lonely and grieving. Aurora's a _wearh_ like us and exceptionally mild-mannered. I thought they would be a great match. And they are. Haven't you noticed how happy Jack is lately?" Bryn's moss-green eyes pleaded at him for understanding.

"If you'd brought her to me straight away, this would have easily been resolved without Jack being involved. Do you know who Aurora's sire is?"

"She's never mentioned it."

Hubbard snorted. "She wouldn't, and with good reason. Gerbert d'Aurillac."

Her eyes widened. "The former pope?"

"The very same, and even more relevant to the present situation, the enemy of Philippe de Clermont. I received a letter from de Clermont, warning me about Aurora. Gerbert is seeking a witch, one who Jack holds dear."

He didn't need to identify Diana by name. Bryn was already familiar with Jack's history with her. But what she didn't know was Gerbert's hatred of witches. "Aurora could be on a mission for her father. By associating with her, Jack could place all witches in peril. Still, I shall not prejudge. As long as Aurora is willing to submit to my test, she can remain in London. But under no circumstances should Jack associate with her."

Hubbard held himself partly responsible. He still viewed Jack as an infant, someone who wouldn't think of mating with someone. But if he were besotted with Aurora, he might let her feed from his heart vein, and all his secrets—as well as Hubbard's—would be revealed. Was Hubbard already too late?

Was Bryn right that the pup was in love? Hubbard groaned to himself. He'd already known his lectures would likely be ineffective. This was exactly why he'd been glad to not sire children. The conversation he would be forced to have was already leaving a sour taste in his mouth.

#

Father H greeted Jack at the entrance to the bell tower when Jack returned from Whitehall to change his clothes before going to see Aurora.

"Come with me to the crypt," Father H ordered brusquely. "We need to talk."

"What's wrong?" Jack asked, racing through his activities of the past few weeks. He'd been too distracted by Aurora to get into any real mischief, and Leonard was spending his free time with Inigo.

"That's what you'll tell me," he said cryptically as he led the way down the staircase. "Wait till we're in a location where we'll be undisturbed."

Jack swallowed. Had he found out about Aurora? Jack hadn't disobeyed an order. Not exactly. He'd simply put it on hold.

After Jack entered the crypt, Father H closed the heavy oak door with an ominous thud. One short stub of a candle provided more than enough illumination for them, but it cast forbidding shadows over Father H's features. Was Jack going to get another lecture about the ungodliness of thrusting? He braced himself for the worst.

"I received a letter from Philippe," Father H said, sitting down at the plank table in the center of the room. "He alerted me to a _wearh_ who's arrived in London under false pretenses."

Jack listened in shock as his sire told him about the contents of the letter. Would Aurora try to use him to find out about Mistress Roydon? Philippe was confident that he was right, but the picture he painted of Aurora didn't match the woman Jack had grown attached to.

"You're right that she didn't disclose who her father was, but neither have I," Jack said. "You drilled into me from the beginning that we don't discuss our past. Why are you holding that against her?"

"I'm not," Father H said calmly. "I'm the last person to cast aspersions on someone because of who their sire is. Philippe is ready to brand her as a duplicitous whore because of her father, but I'm reserving judgment. For all I know, Aurora may be the epitome of virtue."

"Aurora told me several of her friends are witches."

Father H eyed him skeptically. "And you believe her?"

Jack didn't say anything as doubts began to creep in. Had she been lying to him? If that was the case, was she also insincere about her regard for him?

"Philippe fears she intends to use you to discover the truth about Matthew and Diana," Father H added. "Up to recently, I held Philippe and Gerbert in equal contempt. Both _wearhs_ are too arrogant by half." He took a slow breath. "But my opinion of Philippe has improved with time, in large measure because of his changed attitude toward witches. Gerbert has made no such improvement. He despises witches and considers daemons inferior beings. In his mind, _wearhs_ are superior to every other creature and warmblood on Earth."

"I would never tell Aurora about the Roydons," Jack protested. "You know that."

"You might not intend to, but it could slip out. Answer me truthfully. Are you in love with her?"

Was he? He cared for her deeply, but he hadn't stopped to consider the nature of his emotions.

"Do you want her to be your mate?" Father H pressed relentlessly. "Because if you do, then it would be her right to drink from your heart vein, and you wouldn't be able to hold onto any of your secrets. I regret not having already discussed this with you. I'd hoped my admonitions would suffice. If you truly wish to protect Diana and Matthew, you must avoid liaisons. Their future depends on it."

#

Aurora looked at Jack as she gave a soft, regretful sigh. "I'm sorry, but I cannot submit to Andrew Hubbard's request. Such an act would be a betrayal to those who had confided in me. I hope you understand."

Jack nodded. "And I respect you for it." When Father H had given him the ultimatum, Jack knew in his heart that Aurora would refuse. The lecture about mating practices and drinking from heart veins was unnecessary. Leonard had already warned him. This would be his last visit to York Hall. "Where will you go?"

"The duke is traveling to Ireland with his wife. I shall go with them." She gave him a coquettish smile. "Perhaps you'll visit me there?"

"I'd like to." Jack spoke in all sincerity, but he had no intention of associating with Aurora again. He simply couldn't risk the chance she was a spy.

The lesson he'd learned was that he'd be well advised to follow Leonard's example. Witches and daemons, even with the heartbreak of eventual separation, were far safer. According to the Covenant, inter-creature relationships were forbidden. The love between a witch and a _wearh_ such as what Master and Mistress Roydon had for each other was anathema. But if Jack were to find love, he'd have to follow their path and seek it among warmbloods.

Father H had a low opinion of the Congregation and considered the Covenant they'd drawn up to be trash. Jack was torn. Philippe had been the prime force behind both the Congregation and had originally been a strong proponent of the Covenant. But now even he must view it as antiquated and flawed.

Did Leonard and Bryn feel similarly constrained? They'd promised to keep the Roydons' secret as well. More than ever, Jack realized the difficulty of the burden he'd imposed on his friends.

#

_I shall leave tomorrow for Dublin with the Duke and Duchess of Buckingham_. _From there, I hope to advance our cause._

Aurora set her quill on a brass holder as she considered her next words to her father. Dublin was a provincial backwater compared to London. She doubted it would present many opportunities that would interest her father. But in view of the Duke's importance to the Prince of Wales, it was worth the sacrifice.

She'd miss Jack. In addition to his personal allure, he appeared to be her best source on witches in London. She planned to continue to correspond with both him and Bryn. She smiled to herself. Clandestine assignations in country estates could offer a great deal of appeal. She had all the time in the world to deepen her connections.

* * *

_Notes: Jack's journey to find love came to a dead end, but his future looks bright. Charles I is a devoted patron of the arts and his courtiers follow his example. Jack, Leonard, and Bryn will have no shortage of work. We next drop in on Jack roughly twenty years later when the situation is much different. England is in the final stages of a ruinous Civil War. I'll post Winter's Rages in March 2021._


End file.
